Fight the Fight
by Guyl13
Summary: Post 3.8 traumatic stress syndrome therapy. Picks up where the final scene left off but ends somewhere completely different.
1. Chapter 1

**It has been 20 days since the final episode of Ashes to Ashes appeared on our screens, and I still have not come to terms with the way the story ended. I still miss my pal.**

**I hope these four chapters will make things a little easier for you too.**

**This is my first ever fanfic and I would love to receive your feedback.**

"Please, listen - listen to me. I can stay here. With you." Her fingertips were hovering over the fabric of his coat. "You can't do this - you can't do this on your own." Her voice was shaking and she had now grabbed hold of his lapels, begging him to let her stay with him. "You need me, Gene. I can't – I can't go in there."

She remembered having felt this terrified only once before; when Arthur Layton had taken Molly hostage and there had been absolutely nothing she could have done, except perhaps pray that she would be allowed to swap places with her daughter. She had felt utterly powerless then too.

"Yes, you can. They've got a saloon bar."

And then he had smiled - he had actually smiled. The most ill-tempered man in CID, the man with the frown, who at times seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, had actually smiled. The worst thing was that his eyes seemed to be smiling too.

"Can't 'ave you putting me off me stride, can I? I mean, I'll end up wondering if I'm not completely right all of the time. Can't have that… We weren't bad, though, were we?"

It was at that moment that resignation had set in. She took Gene's identification pin out of her pocket and passed the infamous number over to him.

"Here."

He accepted the parting gift, and all the different meanings it carried with it.

"See you around, Bolly Kecks."

What did that mean? Would she be seeing him again? Would the great Gene Hunt one day be making his own grand entrance into the Railway Arms, black coat flapping behind him, having finally rid the streets of Cockney filth and scum? It almost felt as though he was trying to let her down gently by choosing words that suggested they might see each other again. Had he not asked Ray to set a pint aside for him? _See you around, Bolly Kecks…_ What was there left to do? This was goodbye, wasn't it?

Alex leaned towards Gene and placed her right hand on his neck, her thumb tracing a gentle downward line on his left cheek. And still he was staring at her with his kind blue eyes, with those damned half-smiling eyes. What was hiding behind them? Knowledge? Understanding? Pity? Funny how in all those years and months of trying to get home, of wanting to get home, Alex had never really imagined what it would be like to say goodbye to Gene Hunt. She had imagined that she would simply one day wake up in a 2008 hospital room, Molly waiting by her side. Her return had always played out as a fast transition, her fate sealed with varying degrees of violence. She might one day be shot again, the bullet acting as an antidote to the one that had brought her into this world. She might collapse in a dark alley way during a blag, or, the most peaceful alternative of all, go to bed one night, only to wake up in her own world the following morning.

But that was when this world had not felt real to her. It had all been in her mind and well, constructs did not matter and could not be hurt, could they? If she had not been so completely heartbroken, she would probably have smiled at the irony of it all, at the thought that in the end, she had only been half wrong. This world was not real. Only neither was she. None of them were real because not a single one of them was alive. It was that simple.

If none of this was real, why did she feel so broken? Why did the man standing in front of her appear so alive? She could feel his stubble under her thumb, she could detect the smell of whisky and cigarettes in his clothes, feel his breath on her lips… What was it that Sam had told her? _If you can feel it then it is real…_ Alex had never been a religious person but perhaps death was not the end, perhaps it was simply a different reality. How could something - someone - not real have made her enjoy life so much? If her heart had stopped beating, why was it now breaking?

They were millimetres apart now and Gene had leaned in and closed the gap between them. They were kissing at last, but how tragic that it had to have been in those circumstances. It was a goodbye kiss – it could never have been anything else – but Alex summoned all the emotions that had been tearing her heart apart and channelled them into the exchange that was taking place between them. Hearts, minds, thoughts and memories were intertwined and for the second time in her life, Alex found herself praying, begging anyone who would listen to let there be a happy outcome to this whole stinking mess.

"Goodbye, Guv".

She detected a faint smile again, but this time she was not fooled. Tears had been building in Gene's eyes too and she knew she would have been lost forever if she had stayed long enough to witness the dams break.

"Go."

She turned around before it was too late and made her way towards the pub entrance. She could not bear to look back. Instead, she took a deep breath and mechanically placed her hand on the cold handle of the door. Entering the pub, she found herself wishing she could die a second time. _Damn you, Gene Hunt…_ Even then he had acted as the Guv, the Manc Lion – so strong and so brave.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a long and gut-wrenching walk back to CID. Keats had reared his ugly head again and had left Gene with a few choice words before being slung back into the gutter. Rather than focus on Keats and the knowledge that one day, he would be back as promised, Gene decided to use the journey to the station to remind himself of his purpose in this world, hoping that each step would free him from the memory of Alex Drake and secure him in his belief that there was still a job to be done here, on this side of the Railway Arms doors.

He was now walking down the corridor towards CID and was slowly approaching the gates to his kingdom. Any second now, he would swing open the doors with his usual force, his towering figure would fill the door frame and he would be king of the jungle again. If only it had been that easy. His usual bravado deserted him and he entered CID using only one side of the double-doors, making an almost unnoticed entrance.

Things had returned to a semblance of normality inside the office – the mess left earlier on by Keats had been tidied up, the air was shrouded in cigarette smoke again and the sound of voices, telephones and typewriters echoed around the corners of the room. People were busying themselves with the latest case – though what that might have been, Gene had no idea – and it seemed that CID was on its way back to being a well-oiled machine again.

The door closing behind Gene made him realise two things. First, that he was standing directly in front of Alex's desk, and second, that the checkerboard ceiling lights were off, as if there had not been quite enough power to bring the office fully back to life. And rather than make him feel as if he had returned to the comfort of his own home, the cigarette smoke made everything look cold and grey.

He could not quite remember how many steps he had taken to get here from the Railway Arms, but he knew the second he looked at Alex's desk that his tactics of using the walk to focus on work and duty had been in vain. There was paperwork everywhere – even Chris, Ray and Shaz's desks had been requisitioned by new arrivals – yet Alex's desk had been cleared, and cleaned, it seemed. Someone may as well have plunged a dagger through his heart when he noticed the 6-6-20 carving, taunting him from the shiny black surface below. His eyes settled there for a few seconds, not quite knowing what else to do or how to convince his brain to think of something else, anything else. And then there was the added insult of the red telephone, its colour reminding him of the life and soul he had lost, of the fire that had kept burning inside Alex Drake until he had sent her off into the pub.

It was during this moment of crushing solitude that the last words Keats had spoken came back to haunt him. "All alone", "No one to care", "You're doomed", "All alone, Gene", "See ya – wouldn't want to be ya". He hated himself for admitting to it, but Keats had been right; he would always be alone. He mustered just enough self-control to prevent the rage that had been building up inside him from bursting out and exploding into a storm of files, folders and documents. Clenched fists and gritted teeth got him into his office, where he was at last able to let out a deep breath and hide his anger and sadness from the men at work behind him. They had remained oblivious to the tragedy that was playing out in front of them.

Clinging on to normality, Gene took off his coat, placed it onto the coat rack and walked towards his desk, attracted by the bottle of scotch someone had kindly, or mercifully, left there for him. It was at that moment that he felt a presence behind him, staring at him from behind the glass door. He turned around quickly, but there was nothing there. The cloud of cigarette smoke was still swaying around the room, the new team was still hard at work and Alex's desk was still empty and bare. _Alex. Bolly._

_Think, Gene! Think! What do blokes do when they want to forget about birds?_

_Booze, football, motors, other birds…_

He knew of course that he was kidding himself, that this was not a case of working your way around a lovers' tiff or letting off steam because you had been nagged a thousand times too many, but thanks to two items on the desk in front of him, it seemed that help was at hand. The scotch would numb his pain eventually, he was sure of it – hadn't it always? – and the Mercedes brochure might prove to be interesting now that his beloved Quattro had gone to the big scrap yard in the sky. For a second he found the thought quite amusing. _Hey, Bolls, I'm sorry I can't be with you quite just yet, but here's a little something to remember me by…_. He was sure she would appreciate the gesture. Still that colour, though. Red. Why wouldn't they just leave him alone with that bloody colour?

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash through the CID doors, followed by a string of questions that were growing louder and louder.

"What the hell is this? Where's my office? One of you jokers give me back my iPhone. Now. Who the hell do you think you are? This is my office. Right here! Where's my office? WHY DON'T YOU MORONS SAY SOMETHING? WHERE'S MY OFFICE?"

_Oh for Christ sakes, this was not happening. Not now…_

No sooner had DI Drake been packed off to paradise had they sent in a replacement. One that looked like a cross between a vicar and a gay DJ, at that. Did nobody have any consideration for him, for what he might be going through right now?

_Well stick that in your pipe and smoke it!_

Gene grabbed his coat and flung the door of his office open. He marched down CID and stopped next to the new recruit.

"A word in your shell, like, pal… Good luck!"

God did that feel good. A loyal servant for so long, all he had wanted at that point was to be left alone so that he could feel sorry for himself and think about the woman whose heart he had just broken. He wanted to let himself feel like the complete and utter bastard he had been towards her. _Hey, Bolls! Guess what? You're dead. No, your daughter isn't dead but you won't be seeing her for a long, long while. You stay here with me? Don't be silly. Oh, and by the way, didn't I shoot you last year? Yeah, I'm sorry about that too…_ Yes, all he categorically wanted at that point was to get pissed, and sad, and more pissed. But oh no! Gene could be counted on. The great Gene Genie always did what was right – he would be able to cope if they sent him a new basket case this soon.

_Where did one go if one wanted to get pissed and think about the woman one lo...? _Had he just said it? Had that word just come out?

It didn't take a genius to work out that the combination of Luigi's followed by Alex's flat would be a great place to start, and possibly finish. The restaurant had long been closed for the night but that did not prevent Gene from banging on the door until someone let him in. A shuffle of feet and choice Italian language could be heard behind the front door and Luigi eventually appeared, wearing his black and gold smoking jacket and a frown the size of Cheddar Gorge.

"Sinor Hunt! Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"My dear Luigi" came the answer. "I am fully aware that it is way past beer o-clock and that I have got you out of your peaceful slumbers. However, I find myself in the urgent need of getting very drunk very quickly, after which I shall retire to Lady Bolls' apartments."

"I cannot let you wake Sinora Drake, not when you are in this state!"

"Don't you worry, Luigi. Sinora Drake has gone on a long journey and will not mind one bit. Now if you please – two bottles of scotch and the keys to her majesty's palace."

"Please, Sinor Hunt. Don't be like this. I am sure that whatever is troubling you, you will feel better tomorrow".

"Ah Luigi, that is exactly the point, you see. I do not intend to stay like this. I intend to get much, much worse and reach a point where nothing will matter anymore".

Luigi could see that there was no point arguing with the man. He had seen Gene depressed and uninterested before, but this was something else. He quickly returned from the bar with two bottles of whisky and the spare key to Alex's flat.

Gene made his way up the stairs, remembering that at roughly the same time the previous day, his ascent had been full of the promise that unfinished business would at last be seen to. Of course, he fancied the knickers off her – always had – and he was constantly thinking about having his own way with her, but there was so much more than physical attraction between them. She had become _his_ Bolly, he would do anything to keep her safe, but in doing so he had had to keep her at arms length. Did she understand now why he had acted that way? Yes, the night before had been about so much more than physical attraction. By sitting and talking quietly on the sofa and later dancing so tenderly in each other's arms, they had finally admitted that they needed each other and that they could be in each other's company as two consenting adults, without having to fight or bicker.

_Alex and Gene. Gene and Alex._

Gene turned the key in the lock and quietly opened the door, almost hoping that she would be fast asleep on the sofa and that he would see her perfect figure lying there peacefully, the previous 24 hours' discoveries nothing more than a god-awful nightmare. The flat was as he had left it the night before – funny that he should have been the last person in here. Even the lights were still on, making the possibility that she might appear from the bedroom or the bathroom feel all the more real. He needed to stop having these thoughts. She was gone. He had made her go. But her perfume still filled the air, some of her clothes were still draped across the furniture, empty bottles of beer and wine were still scattered around the coffee table.

_God. What I have done?_

He needed her, he wanted to see her, to hear her. And then he remembered. _The tapes. Where did she keep the tapes?_ If he could find the tapes he could at least hear her voice. Have something of hers left behind for him. He knew these were the thoughts of a mad man, that nothing could bring her back but it didn't matter. If all he could have was her voice stuck on bits of plastic then he would take it. He placed the bottles of whisky on the dining table and went straight to the bookshelf. The tape she had played the night before was still in the cassette player – _of course it was, where else would it be?_ Gene found the empty box and proceeded to examine the ones that were lined up against it along the shelf. Music. Music. Nothing but eighties crap and no sign of Alex's voice anywhere. He looked on the shelves under the window. Nothing. In the kitchen cabinets. Nothing. There was only one place left. Should he go into her bedroom? Her very own private domain? What did it matter? She was gone. What was she going to do about it now? He frantically looked through her wardrobe, through all her drawers, her bedside table, under the bed, completely oblivious to the fact that he had been rummaging through her underwear in the process. Still nothing.

Gene returned to where he had first started his search and unscrewed the top off one of the bottles of scotch. He took a large swig and let the warm liquid descend slowly into his gut. Another gulp and his frantic state had abated a little. By the third mouthful he had turned to face the bookshelf again and was sitting on the edge of the round glass table. Books. _When the hell did she have time to read, anyway?_ It had always seemed to him as though they had either been working on a case, drinking or eating at Luigi's, or asleep. What a simple, beautiful existence it had been.

Notepads. Lists. Alex always did like lists. Helped her clear her mind and process her thoughts in a logical, almost clinical manner. Gene pulled out the first notepad that came into view. Seeing some of the words on the front page made him instantly lose his grip and drop the pad onto the table. If words could have this effect on him, he hated to think what state Alex's voice would have left him in. The whisky was disappearing rapidly, but if Alex had taken the time to write down these words, he would read them.

"ICU  
WEATHER VANE  
RURAL  
DEAD COPPER

GENE

6620  
GENE/SAM  
SHAZ

STARS"

He understood what it all meant, what the various references were pointing to. What hurt him more was that he could now see how consumed Alex must have been by her pursuit of the truth. Out of the nine lines of text, seven of them had directly or indirectly been about him. How ironic and how tragically, pathetically sad that Alex had been looking for him all this time. The thought made him sick to the pit of his stomach. He took another swig of scotch before flipping the notepad over to the next page. There was only one line of text on it:

"Alex loves Gene"

He had done so well to keep the tears at bay but they all came flooding out now. He couldn't sob – he would have had to be able to breathe for that. Instead, tear after tear silently rolled down his cheeks, splashing onto the page below his face and onto the trembling hand that had now let go of the whisky bottle. He somehow picked himself up, took a few steps across the tiny room and collapsed onto the sofa.


	3. Chapter 3

So this was it. The inside of the Railway Arms. Any neutral observer would have described it as a happy place. People were cheerful, carefree, and laughter bellowed out of the pub's alcoves at regular intervals. No one seemed to care what time they had got here or how much time they had spent at the bar or at their table. Contentment oozed out of every person present.

Alex did not think that the team had been there for more than a few minutes, but already Chris, Shaz and Ray seemed to be completely at ease with their fate. Chris and Shaz were sitting next to each other, never breaking eye contact. Sitting across the table from them, Alex could see that they had never looked so happy, and despite her inner turmoil, she managed a smile at the beautiful picture in front of her. Ray had taken to the Railway Arms like a duck to water and was already courting a voluptuous blonde at the bar.

And Alex was… Well, Alex was as Gene had left her. Heartbroken. Empty. Wishing that she could just close her eyes and never wake up. She stood up and went to sit on one of the vacated bar stools. Nelson looked so cheerful, pulling pints, joking with his customers and washing empties in a perfectly timed balancing act. The décor did nothing to brighten Alex's mood either. She assumed that the pub's clientele was so wrapped up in enjoying the company of their loved ones that their surroundings were of little consequence to them. Could they not tell that they were actually sitting in a dark, dingy pub? Perhaps this was a place in which one's mood shaped one's environment. Perhaps the lucky punters were experiencing heaven as it should have been – indescribably beautiful. The colour of the stained wallpaper, the scratched varnish of the tables, and the chipped glasses served as a chilling reminder that Alex's mind clearly did not think she was supposed to be here.

Why had he made her walk into this place? Could he not see that she had begged him to stay by his side? She had been terrified, but he had told her to go and had shown so much confidence in his orders that she had decided to trust him implicitly. How could she have argued with the ruler of her world?

Alex tried to cast her mind to what she understood and knew best: psychology. What were the five stages of grief? Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. All five emotions were playing a tug-of-war with her heart and Alex decided very quickly that she could not have been grieving. She would have been able to tell which stage she was currently experiencing if she had.

She had accepted that she was dead. Strangely, that seemed to be the easiest thing to do. She was dead. The people around her were dead. Gene was dead. They were all equals in that respect.

She had already tried bargaining. She had tried to persuade Gene that he would not be able to cope without her, but he had had none of it and had sent her off on her merry way.

Depression raged through her because she now knew it would be a very long time before she saw Molly again and because as a mother, she hoped that she would have to wait as long as possible.

Denial and anger were the hardest to deal with. She still could not believe that Gene had not understood what she was telling him, that he had chosen to ignore the feelings they had both experienced the night before in each other's arms, and that she was going to have to spend the rest of eternity in this stinking boozer, surrounded by happy couples and general joie-de-vivre. She almost laughed out loud at the expression she had just used.

If she was honest, she was as angry with herself as she was with him. She had been a bloody idiot, following all the trails that Keats had neatly placed for her. How could she have been so stupid? Here was a man who had saved her life countless times, who had accepted her mood swings and crazy ramblings without question, and yet she had persisted in questioning him at every opportunity. Did she actually think that he would be capable of murdering his best friend? She hated herself for ever having doubted him and could not bear to look at her reflection in the bar's back mirrors. No wonder Gene had finally had enough and had got rid of her.

And then the song had started…

"One day in your life  
You'll remember a place  
Someone's touching your face  
You'll come back and you'll look around you

One day in your life  
You'll remember the love you found here  
You'll remember me somehow  
Though you don't need me now  
I will stay in your heart  
And when things fall apart  
You'll remember one day..."

_Oh for God's sake. What was this? A sick joke? What bastard had…_

Alex looked around to try and find the cruel prankster, but nobody had bothered to look up to try and gauge her reaction. Each person there was happily wrapped up in their own happy little world.

"Nelson! Did you put on that song?"

"What song is that, Alex?" she was crumbling bit by bit and the man was smiling! What was it with men and smiles?

"The song… Playing now… Michael Jackson…" She looked at him incredulously.

"I don't hear no song, Alex."

_Great. Now she was going mad too._

She looked frantically around the room, trying to make sense of it all, her eyes incapable of settling anywhere and welling up with tears again. It was all too much. She put her hands to her face and started sobbing uncontrollably.

"I can't! I can't… stay here. I know that's what he wants, Nelson, but I can't… I... I need him. And he needs... he needs me...".

What was left of her mascara had run down her cheeks and she knew she must have looked a sorry mess.

"Why couldn't he have just let me stay with him? We would have remembered… together…"

Her voice was weak and imploring. Her distress must have struck a chord with Nelson because he had moved closer and was now leaning across the bar, close enough to whisper something in her ear.

"Alex… Shhh… Alex, don't worry. It'll be alright. It will all be alright."

Alex's sobbing eased a little as she tried to concentrate on what Nelson was telling her.

"Do you see that door over there?" he continued.

_Of course she could see that door. It was the one she had just come through._

"Do you notice anything special about that door, Alex?"

Alex sat up a little and turned around to look at the door. A common pub door, she thought.

"Do you see any locks on that door, Alex?"

And then came the moment of realisation. A smile. A look deep into Nelson's eyes to make sure he was not joking. Another beaming smile told her that he wasn't.

"Nelson, I could kiss you!" Alex stretched up across the bar and gave Nelson the biggest hug she could muster. She then ran for the door as quickly as she could, her weight crashing onto the handle and sending her flying onto the pavement outside. It was a beautiful night. It was the most perfect night. The stars that should have been shining in the Railway Arms had all been waiting for her here, out on the streets.

_So. What next, Alex Drake?_ The answer was short and simple: CID.


	4. Chapter 4

She should have expected it. It must have been around 2am and Fenchurch East Police Station had shut up shop for the night. The front doors were locked and the emergency lights were the only sign of illumination inside the building. Alex had been on such a high after leaving the pub that standing in front of locked doors came as a big disappointment to her, but at the same time she could not repress the cheeky thought that her current predicament had given her the perfect opportunity to impress Gene the following morning. She would put on her skimpiest dress, wear the same red stiletto shoes she had worn when she had first come crashing into his world. She would walk straight into his office and plant herself in front of his desk, an air of defiance across her face. He would look up at her from his glass of scotch and be absolutely gobsmacked. He would have had no choice but to accept that his Bolly had managed the impossible and had made it back from the Railway Arms. But most of all, he would finally have to accept the fact that she had decided to spend the rest of her existence with him. _Yes, that would do nicely_.

Alex walked up the steps to her flat, her mind buzzing with the promise of the day to come. It was late and it was dark, but sleep was the last thing on her mind.

She opened her front door. The lights were on. Had she not switched them off? And then she remembered. Keats had interrupted them the night before and she had fled from her flat, leaving Gene behind in her bedroom. He must have left shortly after her and why not? She had let Keats ruin a perfect moment. They had been so close. Their lips had been so close. Four knocks on the door and it had been all over. No, it was too easy to blame Keats. Doubt had ruined the moment. She could have told Keats to go to hell and joined Gene in her bedroom, but she had picked up her jumper and her coat instead and had deserted him. God knows how he must have felt when he realised that she had gone. She had made a fool out of him and had ripped his guts out, he had told her as much.

She looked into her bedroom from the kitchen and noticed that her clothes were strewn across the carpet and across the bed. _One night away and burgled already_. Only nothing seemed to be missing. Her jewellery box was intact. The cash which she kept at the back of her bedside table was still there. Everything was just, well, in a mess.

She had been standing in the kitchen when she first glanced at the living room. It seemed altogether tidier but she noticed three objects on the dining table which she was sure had not been there the night before: her notepad and two bottles of scotch. Gene's scotch. Alex walked towards the table and examined the items more closely. One of the bottles was still full and the other half empty. She then saw the smudged sentence on the notepad. "Alex loves Gene". Had he seen this? Would he still believe it after all that had happened, after she had exposed his world and found out who he really was?

Alex looked around the room in shame. She could not believe her eyes. Or her luck. Gene's strong frame was pressed against the back of the sofa. Her heart was pounding against her chest. What should she do? Should she wake him? Should she let him sleep and silently creep back into her bedroom? No, that was a stupid idea. Too much had happened that night to let any more minutes be wasted. She had to speak to him.

She gently shook his right shoulder, the feel of his body sending shivers down her spine. "Gene…" She had spoken so softly. Too softly, perhaps. "Gene…", a little louder this time.

"Jesus!" He had opened his eyes and had leapt out of his skin and off the sofa in one single motion. Was he dreaming? He didn't remember finishing the two bottles of scotch. He thought he had been drinking his way through the first one when it had all become too much and he had retreated to the familiar feel of the sofa. He must have fallen asleep and was now fantasising about Alex appearing in front of him. Only she had reacted to him jumping off the sofa and had leapt back herself. _Apparitions did not get jumpy, did they?_

"Gene. What are you doing here?" She was real. It really was her. He tried to straighten himself out and ran his hands through his hair, clearing his throat at the same time.

"What am _I_ doing here? What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"I live here, remember?"

"Oh I remember – I'm not that drunk. I mean what are you doing _here_, _here_?"

"I got barred."

"You what?"

"I kicked up a stink and they let me go." _God, she was magnificent. In every single way._

"Now I know what an obnoxious pair of stockings you can be, but they don't just let people go, however irritating they may be."

"Aren't you happy to see me, Gene?" Of course he was happy. He was deliriously happy. He would have grabbed her then and there had it not been for the fact that he was trying to do the right thing again.

"You can't stay in this world. It's not safe". _Impossible, stubborn man. Impossibly handsome man._

"You make it safe."

"Alex – Keats will be back and he will be up to his old tricks again. He didn't win you over this time but what makes you think he won't succeed next time?" Alex wondered whether that had been a hidden reminder that she had been altogether too chummy with the man from D&C. _Fair enough. She deserved that._

"Alex, please. Let me take you back to the pub…" He had another thing coming if he thought she was going to be persuaded this time.

"What? So you can be all alone again? So that you can saddle your horse and ride to the rescue of another stranger? I tell you what, Gene. I sure envy those sunsets of yours! It's your fault we're in this bloody mess anyway!"

"My fault? My fault?" He was trying to do the right thing and she was laying all the blame at his feet. _The infuriating woman! _"How is it my fault? I didn't ask you to go and dig up my grave!" He was shouting now, anger flashing out of his eyes.

"Well I didn't ask to be haunted, did I?" She was giving as good as she got.

"What?"

"Oh, being haunted by an officer with half his face blown off was a barrel of laughs, believe me!" She had hit him below the belt and she felt awful for it. His eyes broke contact and he fell back onto the sofa, the fight seemingly out of him.

"Gene…" She had sat down next to him and was speaking softly again. He could only manage staring into the empty space in front of him.

"I didn't know who the ghost was… I thought it might be Sam. And the more he haunted me the more I needed to find out the truth. I never even considered that the ghost might be you…" Stone silence. "Don't you see, Gene? You wanted me to find you all along…"

"Why?" His voice was barely audible.

"I don't know" she sighed. "Perhaps deep down you have grown tired of this place. Of always being the hero, of making friends and having to let them go." She had used the word "friends" but prayed that she had not fallen into that category.

"I'm not ready, Bolls."

"I know. But please accept the fact that I am not ready either. There is nothing in that pub for me, Gene. Nothing. Please believe me when I say that I spent the most miserable, gut wrenching moments of my life in that place and that I will never, ever go back there again. Not until we are both ready." She was on a roll now. "And it's not because I am afraid of death or of being alone. It's because I am terrified of spending the rest of my life without you."

He turned to the right, ready to look into her eyes again. She had always been so good at expressing her feelings. He could never match her skills in that department, but he hoped the loving look he was giving her now told her everything she needed to know.

"So what do we do now?" She seemed to have all the answers and he would gladly surrender himself to her guidance once more.

"We remember. Every day we remember who we are and where we came from. Keats can only get to us if we let ourselves forget."

He nodded in approval. Good. It was settled, then. They would be a team once again, fighting scum side by side.

They let a few seconds pass, their silence sealing the agreement.

Gene inhaled a lungful of air in his customary manner and decided that it was time for the topic of conversation to go down another route.

"So what do we do right now?" The Gene Hunt Alex knew and loved was returning and she decided to play along with his game.

"What? Right now?" she asked, well aware of the full extent of the innuendo.

Another nod. Alex stood up and extended her hand towards him.

"I think you and I have unfinished business, haven't we Gene?"

He grabbed hold of her hand, just as he had done the night before, and rose to his feet. They were leaning into each other, their bodies touching from chest to toe.

"Gene Hunt does not dance", he said commandingly.

"No? What _does_ he do, then?"

Gene scooped Alex up into his arms and carried her over the threshold of the bedroom door.

"Gene?"

"I know."

It was going to be a long and beautiful night.

THE END


End file.
